The Golden Age of Basketball

After returning to the restaurant from the second floor, Gan Guoyang thoroughly washed his hands, and his mood finally calmed down; he soon fell asleep on the bed.

The next morning, Raymond brought his "sisters" to Gan's Restaurant for a meal again. This time, in addition to a basket of steamed dumplings, they also ordered an extra Yangzhou fried rice.

Though their spending power wasn't strong, their daily visits kept the restaurant from being too empty.

An empty restaurant was the most fatal; sometimes passersby, seeing that there wasn't a single person inside, would think twice about entering, and the business would only get worse from there.

By noon, the takeaway orders gradually increased, and Gan Guoyang began to get busy. He made several deliveries in a row, never forgetting to carry his basketball with him each time he stepped out.

"Basketball boy, what on earth is so enchanting about that brown thing that you can't let go of it? There's so much more to the world, isn't there?" Raymond, smoking a cigarette, curiously asked upon seeing Gan Guoyang never without the ball.

"Nothing much, I just like it," Gan Guoyang replied succinctly.

"You want to play in the NBA?" Raymond further inquired.

"Of course," Gan Guoyang replied without hesitation.

Raymond laughed so hard that the makeup on his face started to flake off.

"The NBA's not such a great place—you've got a bunch of drugged-up black guys chasing after a ball and, by the way, getting into fights. If you go there, you'll be bullied, kid. The NBA hasn't seen an Asian player yet." Raymond said disdainfully of the NBA, while giving Gan Guoyang a concerned look.

What surprised Gan Guoyang the most since he arrived in America in the 1980s was the reputation of the NBA.

According to later propaganda, the 1980s were always touted as the golden age of the NBA, and he thought it must be extremely popular in San Francisco, especially with the Warriors right next door in Oakland.

However, most of what he had heard about the NBA was negative.

Neither Chen Xing nor Gan Guohui had much interest in the NBA; they said there wasn't much coverage on TV.

Chen Xing was more interested in college basketball, while Gan Guohui claimed to be a faithful fan of UCLA.

Even someone like Raymond, who lived on the fringes, looked down on the NBA, which showed just how bad its reputation was.

Raymond, seemingly sensing Gan Guoyang's thoughts, rolled his eyes and said, "Though I'm not doing great, I still abide by the law and never touch drugs. I'm very clean indeed."

Upon hearing Raymond claim to be clean, Gan Guoyang couldn't help but laugh and pointed upstairs.

"I'm talking about me as a person, not the environment I live in! If you're talking about cleanliness, where in this country is truly clean..."

"So, if the NBA has problems, it's the people, not the basketball, that's the issue."

Raymond was at a loss for words, when Gan Guohui called out to Gan Guoyang, saying, "Cousin! We got a big job; you're gonna have to make a run in a bit."

Gan Guoyang knew a big takeaway order came in. He glanced at the order sheet, indeed a large one—the customer had ordered more than ten dishes. Was this a takeaway meal for a guest?

Such a large order in the middle of the day had the kitchen buzzing immediately, with Great-uncle joining in the fray. The more than ten dishes were quickly prepared and packed into a three-tiered large meal box.

"Guoyang, is it all right? Do you want to call a cab?"

"No need, I have the strength, and my legs are strong. Besides, cab fare is too expensive."

Gan Guoyang, with the three-tiered meal box on his back and basketball and the customer's address in hand, set off.

"Hey, you better not take the basketball with you, the meal box might tip over..."

Gan Youwei was worried about the meal box tipping over if Gan Guoyang took the ball with him, but Gan Guoyang had already dashed off.

The customer's address was in the Fillmore District, marked as "Begining Restaurant."

Gan Guoyang wondered, a restaurant calling another restaurant for food? Had their own kitchen failed to make the dishes?

With doubts in mind, Gan Guoyang took the bus, got off at Jefferson Park, and walked briskly towards the destination.

Fifteen minutes later, he stood in front of the restaurant bearing the sign "THE BEGINING," its doors shut tight.

Gan Guoyang double-checked the address; there was no mistake, it was the right place.

He approached and peered through the tea-colored glass door, where it seemed there were people inside.

The door suddenly opened, and Gan Guoyang was startled to see a broad chest right in front of him, adorned with a silver Indian wolf tooth necklace.

Even though Gan Guoyang was standing on a lower step and was over 2 meters tall, an ordinary person, even standing on a higher step, would at most be eye-level with Gan Guoyang.

But this person, Gan Guoyang could only see his collar when he looked straight ahead, and then a balding black head, already touching the top of the doorframe.

His face was framed by a thick beard, with a large, shiny bald patch on his forehead and crown.

His cheekbones were high, his nose wide and flat, his eyebrows bushy; his visage was stern, yet with a trace of kindness.

Beneath the sleeves of his short-sleeved shirt, his arms were like ancient vines, entwined with sinewy muscles that shimmered with a metallic coldness.

This was a black tower.

"I'm a delivery guy from Gan's Restaurant. Did you order any food?"

"Yes, come in."

The black tower stepped aside to let Gan Guoyang in. Seeing the basketball in Guoyang's hand, a look of surprise crossed the giant's face.

As Guoyang entered The Begining restaurant, he wondered if he had stumbled into a Mafia family meeting.

Inside the hall sat seven or eight burly, towering men, their gazes fixed intently on Guoyang, making him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

Apart from them, there were no other patrons in this so-called restaurant, no waitstaff to be seen, no chefs, and they weren't even open for business.

"Could this be a den of criminals?" Guoyang worried, aware that San Francisco wasn't the safest place and one had always to be cautious.

Placing the delivery box from his back down, Guoyang took out the dishes one by one, ensuring nothing was missing or spilled, then said to the hulking man, "The total for your meal plus delivery is 47 US dollars, thank you."

The black tower pulled out the money from his pocket and paid Guoyang. Looking at the basketball in Guoyang's hands, he said, "Kid, you like playing basketball?"

Guoyang nodded, "Yes, I will play in the NBA one day."

Laughter erupted in the restaurant upon hearing Guoyang's words as if he had told a very funny joke.

Guoyang rarely mentioned his NBA ambition, but in the restaurant, he felt as if these people might have some connection to basketball.

For he soon noticed many photos and posters of players on the walls, including that of the black tower.

He was donning a red jersey with the number 42, hands on hips, his physique as robust as an ox, with CAVALIERS emblazoned on the shirt.

But Guoyang didn't recognize him, so he must have been a player from an earlier NBA era.

With a radiant smile, the black tower said, "NBA, that's great, Kung Fu Kid, you're the tallest Chinese person I've ever seen. How old are you?"

"16."

"16, and which high school team are you on?"

"I... I'm not on the high school team."

After Guoyang's response, the restaurant went quiet for a second before filling again with boisterous laughter as everyone found it amusing.

Shaking his head, the black tower said, "If you can't even make it onto the high school team, how could you join a professional one?"

Yet Guoyang insisted, "But I will be soon. You used to play in the NBA, didn't you?"

The black tower nodded, turning to his friends, he said, "This kid doesn't know me, it seems my career was somewhat of a failure."

"I'd like a one-on-one basketball showdown with you," Guoyang said, gripping the basketball with one hand, issuing a challenge to the black tower.

"Whohohoho! Here's a kid who doesn't know how high the sky is or how deep the earth is!"

"Nate! Tell me this isn't an actor you hired to play your sparring partner."

"Kid, while you still have some time, do yourself a favor and buy some insurance. This is your chance to get rich."

The restaurant was in stitches, everyone goading the black tower into taking on Guoyang for a game of one-on-one.

The black tower looked at Guoyang, shaking his head with a wry smile, and said, "Kid, even if you beat me in a one-on-one, you won't make it to the NBA. Besides, don't you have meals to deliver? There's work waiting for you back at the shop, a career with a lot of prospects."

Faced with the room's ridicule, Guoyang's eyes remained resolute as he continued, "I will definitely make it to the NBA, but right now, I need to know just how big the gap between myself and the NBA is. Come on, uncle, are you going to back down? You don't look like a coward to me."

Guoyang's words whipped the room's atmosphere into a frenzy, with everyone clamoring for Nate to play a couple of rounds with Guoyang.

After a moment of hesitation, Nate replied with resignation, "Alright, there's a hoop in the yard. We can play a couple of shots. I could use a good stretch."